Catsitting

In which I learn more about boundaries and care

Mark and I are catsitting for a few friends who’ve gone to the U.S. for two weeks. I’ve watched over Frank and Beans before, but not for this long and not while I was working. The flat is quite big, by London standards, and it didn’t take me long to imagine myself as a pet owner, specifically as a cat mum. I’d never had any cats before, and while it isn’t a massive change from dogs, it struck me as an easier sort of looking-after.

Twice a day, Frank and Beans each gets a portion of kibble and some wet food, and at least twice a day, their litter box needs to be cleaned. They are indoor cats, so they have been perfectly content with roaming around the two-bed flat, though sometimes they go on the balcony and nap in the sun.

Neither of them are particularly affectionate. At least, not in the same way as my dogs are. Unlike Noah and Benny (and now, Charlie), Frank and Beans cannot be cuddled with in bed. Beans will meow from the hallway and lay on her back for belly rubs, but she will not be picked up and hugged. It’s taken a lot of self-control for me not to do this, as she is quite round, which my brain imagines would make for quite a good cuddle.

Frank does not like to be picked up, either, but he is sometimes more open to it. What he likes, however, is to nestle between your legs, whether they’re stretched out or formed like a circle or a nest. He will not settle in there if you haven’t draped a blanket over them.

Although it’s only been a few days since we started watching them, it feels like I’ve been trying to learn a new language. Unlike Duolingo — which I’m currently using to learn Irish — there isn’t a set of instructions or rules that cover all of catspeak. On my first night at Adam and Alli’s, I texted a few cat owner friends. “What does it mean when their tail swishes around?” I asked. Dog tails are easy to read. If it wags, they’re happy. “It depends,” they chorused.

“What kind of swishing is it?”

“If it’s thumping on the ground, it means they’re ready to pounce on you.”

After the second night I was there, Frank regurgitated his food. My friends said he probably just ate too quickly. But I Googled it (of course), and certain cat symptoms when paired with other symptoms can spell danger. He had been pooping outside his litter box, which may or may not be a bad sign. I called the vet, and they said he was probably fine. I texted Alli, and she replied after a few hours, as she was behind in time zones. Although Frank had been showing no signs of illness or lethargy, I was still worried. In the end, I didn’t need to be. “Frank just does that sometimes,” she said. “He ‘s probably just upset we left.”

We’re watching them until the 21st, which is only about five days away. I’m really sad about it, as it means they’ll be moving to America soon. I don’t think I’ll be visiting them there, but I wish I could.

Yesterday, I had lunch with Pam, a friend from high school. She had been living in England for the past six months, as her husband was doing a masters in sustainability. She asked if I had any kind of core friend group here. I thought about it, and I’d like to think that I do, even though we don’t meet up all that much, and most of these friendships were formed out of proximity and circumstance. A lot of the friends I made here have moved away from the city. London is a transient place, after all.

I don’t often feel lonely. Even though Mark has helped with that, as a constant and consistent sort of presence, I wasn’t really ever sad about my situation as someone who has been left behind. I am really sad about the thought of Frank and Beans moving away, though. I think I don’t feel the void as keenly when it’s a human presence, because I can still communicate with them. I miss my dogs a lot, because neither of us can reach the other.

I’d like to think that a reunion with these cats will happen. One way or another. Maybe we’ll find a new way of speaking, though probably not.